


My Hostage

by Turboburst



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Interrogation, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turboburst/pseuds/Turboburst
Summary: Prowl's attempts at roleplay don't necessarily go according to plan.  But nontheless, they end up in a fun night for those involved.  And who knows, maybe revelations are had that lead to future scenes and fun.





	My Hostage

Sneaking up on a spy is a terribly difficult task, as Prowl was figuring out.  Even after vorns of escapades and adventures with the saboteur he always found some way to surprise Prowl.  And Prowl being, well, Prowl.  All he could do is play it off and laugh or divert the topic to avoid another embarrassing failure.

But not today, today was definitely going to be the day that Prowl succeeded in his plan.  Step one, shoot a tranquilizer to incapacitate Jazz.  Step two, blindfold him then disable some of his firewalls and GPS while incapacitated to carry him off to a separate location.  Step three, bind and restrain the saboteur before he wakes up.  Step four, interrogation.  Step five, a happy ending.  It’s a foolproof plan.

Right now Jazz should be hanging out in his room listening to the ‘sickest beats’ in a soundproofed room.  Sure, that was expensive.  But the payoff has been great, the next door habsuite occupants never complain anymore.  Prowl’s idea to enter the supply closet ceiling about four doors down and slowly creep overtop the different habsuites until he was successfully overtop Jazz’s.  From there?  Slide away a ceiling panel silently while keeping his EM field masked, then shoot Jazz with a tranq in the main energon cables on his neck.  Simple.

 Prowl was used to planning things, comes with being a military strategist.  Of course, that also means that he’s created an infinite number of plans in case of an emergency Decepticon attack.  That also means knowing the schematics of the Ark backwards, forwards, and upside down.  That also means that the supply closet four doors down on the eastern side is the best entrance point for this operation.  Like planning a sting operation for, well, interface reasons.

So Prowl trying to walk normally down a hallway past his habsuite and into a supply closet would catch more then a few optics.  Luckily there was nobody around to watch his comical attempt to look normal entering into said supply closet.  Even better, no cameras around to record his being climb on top of boxes of solvent and overturned mop buckets to push away a ceiling panel.  Vague thoughts of having enacted disciplinary actions on a set of twins for a stunt similar running through his processor.  Or crawling through the ceiling like some sort of degenerate like he is right now.  If he could be grumbling he would, but that would alert far too many shipmates and ruin his possible sting operation.

So there he was, Prowl in all his glory.  Crawling on his hands and knees through the ceiling.  And that’s the position he would stay in until he was above his target.  But he knew it was going to be worth it, as long as he didn’t face the humiliation of getting caught.  Or failing to complete his current mission.  Speaking of mission, that’s the ceiling tile he needs to move out of the way just three tiles ahead of him.

Quietly removing the ceiling tile and pushing it to the side the view down was exactly what he wanted to see.  Just behind Jazz’s head and the sound of the music drifting up through the ceiling now that his soundproofing was broken.  He needed to get the tranq dart in his neck fast so the next door neighbros wouldn’t lodge a noise complaint.

With the sound of the Jazz’s music the firing of Prowl’s gun was completely drowned out timed with the obnoxious thumping of his music.  As was any possible noise that Jazz might have made in response to being shot in the neck.  A quick closing of the ceiling tile and to wait just a couple dozen astroseconds and he’ll be down.  Prowl could just jump through the ceiling, turn off that music, and then Jazz would be his for a long and meticulously drawn out evening.  Perfect.

Speaking of a couple dozen astroseconds, time was up now.  Prowl pushed the ceiling tile to the side jumping down and practically ran to the saboteurs DJ panel to unplug it.  Maybe the neighbors would only thing that his door was opened and shut without overthinking anything.  What was Prowl thinking, most the neighbors wouldn’t even be in their habsuites at this time anyways.  Out having a drink, taking a leisurely drive, or on post.  But every variable should be kept into account.  That’s how he became the military strategist.

A quick plug into his processor and a disabling of his GPS and internal clock systems and when the saboteur woke up fully restrained he would have no clue when it was or where he was.  Perfect and foolproof.  With Prowl’s added voice modifier Jazz would also be unable to identify his lover.  And with a blindfold Prowl would also remain unidentified visually as well.

Even though they were lovers, Jazz and Prowl kept very separate habsuites.  Jazz liked his loud boisterous noise pollution, and Prowl liked a nice quiet space to perform calculations and run mental battle stimulations.  Not exactly great for sharing a living space.  Plus both were very fond of their own space.

With Jazz knocked out cold, it was easy for Prowl to hoist the mech over his shoulder to exit the habsuite and head to his.  He had run through this stimulation thousands of times in his processors, the hall would be empty and anybody in their habsuites wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon.  So it should be just a simple exit and walk to his own.

Mech over shoulder, Prowl punched in the key to exit Jazz’s habsuite.  Upon exiting the suite, a quick walk to his left, five doors down was his suite.  A quick punch of a multi-digit code and Prowl was in his habsuite.

“Lights: on.  Dimmed setting.” Prowl’s voice activating the lights in his domain.  Illuminated in the middle of the room a huge device.  Prowl had paid a heft commission to Wheeljack to build one for him for personal use.  A Variable Voltage Harness.

Usually a contraption for performing torture, but as far as Jazz was concerned.  He was being tortured, and interrogated for Primus knows what.  Its design was something quite marvelous.  Slab slanted at a perfect 45 degree angle with two outstretched arms and boots to contain the captives knee joints down.  A truly terrifying design.  And with the voltage either completely at control of the torturer, or able to be left in a completely random pattern.  What’s not to love?

Now, Prowl was a fit mech.  But even wrangling an unconscious Jazz into the contraption before him was difficult and tedious.  An accidental slip and the saboteur basically face planted into the floor beneath them.  Prowl would neglect to mention this blunder later.  All the times he ran over this scene in his processor not one stimulation included dropping Jazz on his face.

_Click!_   Jazz’s waist was locked into the harness.

_Click!_   Jazz’s right wrist locked into place.

_Click!_   Jazz’s left wrist locked into place.

_Click!_   Jazz’s right pede locked into place

_Click!_   Jazz’s left pede locked into place.

The strapped up mech sure did paint a pretty picture.  Spread eagle on a contraption that will bring equal parts pain and pleasure.  Most likely in that order.  Prowl didn’t have much more time before the saboteur onlined.

A quick click and a voice modulator was attached to Prowl’s throat in order to disguise his vocalizer.  There was no way that Prowl would let the game be up that fast.  He had been planning this for far too long.  Even having Wheeljack sneak in and out of his habsuite to build this giant contraption.  Also not interfacing with the mech for several mega-cycles in his own private suite as well.

“What tha frag.  Where am ay?”  the groggy sounding vocalizer of the strapped up saboteur sounded behind Prowl.

“You’re in my domain now, Autobot.  You’ve got information I want, and you will give it to me.  Right now you’re strapped in a Variable Voltage Harness and I’ve installed an I/D Chip so you can’t transform.  I’ve also disabled your GPS systems and blocked your communication lines.  Basically, you’re stuck with me as long as I want.”  The voice modulator was something quite unique.  Prowl would have to use it in the future for other things at a later date.

“Ah don’t recognize yer voice there mech.  Can ah get a designation.”  Trust the saboteur to try to gain any possible information he can.  Even when faced with something as nasty as the prospect of torture.

“I’ll let you know if you manage to make it through everything I have to give you, Autobot.”

“An’ what if ah wan to see yer face?”

“And be able to prepare visually for what’s going to hit you?  Absolutely not.”

“Well then, hit me with yer best shot.”  If Prowl were made of lesser stuff he would have chuckled at the reference to the Earth song. 

“As you wish.”  Prowl was taking care to even walk differently.  The mech strapped up was very good at discerning any sort of information and could tell one’s size and frame based on footsteps alone.  Prowl should know very well, whenever he went and had a frame modification Jazz was always the first to notice.  Often times before even turning around to look at said modifications.

Keeping an optic on the saboteur, Prowl could have watched him for orns if allowed.  Between the careful, calculated, and downright deadly moves to the playful and thoughtless wanton.  Jazz was something of an interesting character to say the least.  Like right now, if he weren’t wearing the blindfold, all care would be thrown to the wind.  He would be nothing but banter and playfulness.  But seeing as he was blindfolded, a voice modulator disguising Prowl’s voice, and convinced he had an ID chip installed.  All playfulness was gone.  Strapped up was a cold, calculating, and deadly mech. 

_Click.  Vrrrrrrrrr_.  The sound of Prowl’s cooling fans clicking on to low gear echoed in the room.  Prowl loved both sides of the restrained mech.  And right now, with a building heat behind his interface panel and his systems starting to heat a bit.  It was time to continue on.

“Turned on by tha thought of torturin me over there?  Yer a twisted one, that’s for sure.”  Every move the spy made was something of a cold and calculated move.  And it was now time for Prowl to begin his own cold and calculated moves.

Walking over to a table of implements and tools to be used, Prowl stopped at a laser scalpel.

Thoughts of little nicks and scrapes and superficial cuts all over the spy sprung about in his processor.  The Harness would then be slick with energon as a conductor would leave a beautiful sight and further the scene.

Picking up the scalpel in his servo, Prowl practically tiptoed on his pedes all the way back to Jazz.  While still making sure that his strides were consistently too short to throw him off his trail.

A secure grip on that blade, and a light drag over a particularly sensitive transformation seam on the smaller mech’s upper left arm.  A sensation that wouldn’t cause any lasting damage, but would sting a bit.  Moving the scalpel up, continuing along the seam to the end of that particular piece of armor to the delicate cables beneath.  Next creating incredibly tiny superficial cuts along energon lines.  Not nearly hard enough to draw energon, but any movement would agitate the tiny superficial wounds.  Enough damage like this and his entire system would be set afire in discomfort.

Jazz was very good at not reacting.  But I guess that is to be expected when having had brief run-ins with individuals such as Vortex.  You want a mech who will turn anybody’s day sour in the most painfully tedious ways possible?  Look no further than Vortex.  But his downfall is that he’ll sometimes get so lost in his work he just thinks about the torture and not the interrogation.  Prowl was specifically keen on the interrogation.

“You have plans to attack the Nemesis soon.  When is the attack scheduled.”  Prowl could have some fun using his morally ambiguous side to further the scene along.

“Ay don’ know what yer talkin’ about.”  The smirk on his face.  Was it meant to encourage or irritate?  There was no way he was onto Prowl already.

“Of course you don’t.” More pressure applied to the scalpel.  A barely audible scraping noise as the scalpel is dragged along seams and armor alike.  More pressure applied and faint trails of energon are left in the blades wake after a few astroseconds.  Prowl always careful not to hit any truly erogenous zones on the soon to be zapped mech.  That’s something that would not pass by the saboteurs processor, and would end the game far too quickly.

The scalpel continued to drag in tedious crosshatch like patterns now across the mech’s chasis.  Energon beading in neat little lines and steadily dripping down where too much had gathered and gravity took effect.  Minute amounts of energon beginning to collect on the slab of the harness.

Prowl continued to methodically work across armor and protoform alike.  Digging deeper into the armor where self-repair systems have the capability to fix them before they get bad.  Lighter strokes across the protoform, he doesn’t actually want to sever any energon lines.  But causing distress, burning, discomfort, and a plethora of warnings to flash across Jazz’s HUD?  That’s more than acceptable.

“Still don’t know anything about a scheduled attack?” Prowl asked as he brought the scalpel dangerously close to that bright red logo in the center of Jazz’s chest.

“Ay’m sorry.  Ay must have fallen asleep.  What were ya sayin?”  The amount of times this mech had been subjected to similar torture.  Prowl wouldn’t have been surprised if he had actually fallen asleep.

Still, the amount of sass that rang through that ever cheery and upbeat voice was something to be frustrated about.  Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the Police Car whose response was to just drag the scalpel deeper than anywhere else previously across the bright red Autobot Insignia on Jazz’s chest.

“Shame, it would be terrible if anything worse were to happen to you.” Came the deadpan tone of Prowl’s voice modulator.  Scalpel dragging straight up through that logo headed towards exposed neck cables.  Tiny superficial nicks along those cables.  Not even noticeable via optics.  They would be listed in damage reports across his HUD, but as far as Prowl could see, nothing.

But the effects of such a free joint would make any sort of movement and stretching of those cables burn and sting with the pain of opening and reopening such miniscule slices.  Over time he would slip and make at least a little noise of discomfort.  Jazz will crack eventually.

Prowl couldn’t help himself.  Slicing into an energon line just a little too deep in his neck produced a quick droplet of energon.  Prowl leaned over and with a wide flat swipe of his glossa had lapped up the spilled energon. 

There, a small minute click of something trying to kick on.  But knowing Jazz he had probably overridden any coding that was about to kick in.

“Careful there Autobot.  Wouldn’t want to give me the wrong impression that you were enjoying our little session.”

“But if ay like it enough yer so called torture will be worthless” Jazz was clearly not intimidated.  His flashy grin said that he was anything but intimidated.  Like he was the one who had a mech strapped up for torture.

“Mmmmm, that would be a shame wouldn’t it.”

Time for Prowl to change tactics.  Removing his frame’s presence from Jazz he walked over to the control panel on the Variable Voltage Harness.

_Click. Vrrrrrrrrrrrrr._ The steady hum of the harness now warming up.  A noise that could almost be considered a comforting white noise, so long as you didn’t know what exactly it was for.

“You sure you don’t recall a planned raid?  I’m giving you one last chance here.”

“Do yer worst.” That’s all the prompting Prowl needed.

_Click._ Then the sound of the electricity coursing through the harness coupled with the clanging of the involuntary spasms of Jazz’s body cleverly masked the subtle clicking of Prowl’s cooling fans.  A lesser practiced mech wouldn’t have been able to hide their EM field as well, which would have clearly been filled with arousal and lust.  Prowl’s olfactory senses picking up the charge in the air, the distinct scent of ozone.  Not necessarily a bad smell, but not necessarily a pleasant one either.

“Have we had a change of processor yet?  Or do I need to crank this up to the next level?”

“Ay’m sorry.  Ay could’ve sworn ay heard ya say something, but ay was enjoyin myself to much to pay attention.”  Somehow even though the unpleasant course of electricity flowing through his frame and involuntary spasms, the saboteur still managed to be sarcastic and throw a cheeky grin towards the source of the voice he heard.

“So be it.” Another crank of the dial and the harness kicked up another notch.  Prowl knew there was a cap to the amount of electricity that would go through this device, but that wasn’t something that Jazz knew. 

A normal variable voltage harness would be able to singe armor, melt wiring, and fry processors.  This one was built to avoid all of that.  Lots of testing and demos, Prowl knew exactly how hard he could push this machine before it hit its emergency shut off.  So, all Prowl had to do was make sure he didn’t hit that emergency shut off.  Otherwise, the game would be up much earlier than anticipated.

Speaking of which, looking back at the harness Jazz’s frame was still writing in the device he was currently strapped in to.  Denta gritting, limbs straining against restraints, head thrashing from side to side.  What a desperate and beautiful sight he made.  Prowl would take him now if it were any regular scene.  But it was not, and Jazz had not conceded and divulged the information that Prowl wanted.

Prowl clicked another few buttons and the harness kicked up a couple more notches.  The buzzing of the machine getting steadily louder and louder.  But somehow drowned out at times from the thrashing coming from the mech strapped into it.

“Aaaaaaagh!” The first scream ripping out from Jazz’s vocalizer.  Music to Prowl’s ears.

The sight of the mech in front of Prowl left him clearly wondering, how much longer would he be able to last before he needed to release his slowly building charge.  He needed to make sure that he lasted long enough to finish the scene. 

Only a few more kliks with the power on and Jazz might be more than willing to talk.

Looking over Jazz, he was such a beautiful sight to take in right now.  Restrained completely, tiny cuts being reopened every time he jerked, spasmed, or thrashed.  Fresh beads of energon appearing all over his body.  Erratic banging noises as he squirmed and crashed onto the slab.  Visor somehow glowing brighter underneath the blindfold due to the extra boost of electricity running through his circuits.  Fists clenched involuntarily, denta appearing as though they’ve been welded shut with how tightly they’re clamped.

One could only begin to imagine the amount of warnings crossing over his sensors, but surprisingly none would be an immediate danger.  The spy had spent a long time playing this game throughout his vorns of work.  He would read that none of them posed any immediate threat to his being.

Time for Prowl to change tactics.

The click of the machine turning off couldn’t even be heard over the combined noises of Jazz and the machine itself.  But as the machine cut off the power the saboteur clearly relaxed.  His fists unclenching, no longer thrashing, facial plates closed back over those denta slowly unclenching.

“Has that tune of yours changed any?  Ready to talk?”

“Is that really the best ya got?  An here ay was expectin more oompf.  More creative spark ya know?” voice strained, but will not bent.  What a piece of work, it’s a wonder that mechs who had actually caught and tortured him in the past hadn’t gone mad themselves.

“Mmmm.  Guess that means I just need to try something new and different.” Prowl picked his laser scalpel back up once more.  Time to focus more south of the border.

Scalpel in hand, Prowl’s predatory optics traced the restrained mechs pelvis.  Hips, codpiece, interface panel.  Seams to follow and trace down to lovely shapely thighs.  Delicate and sensitive hip joints and transformation seams located in the inner thigh.

One more Jazz remained statuesque, not moving as Prowl placed the edge of that scalpel against a seam on his inner right thigh.  Down his thigh, towards he knee joint.  Across wires and exposed joints.  Back up towards his pelvis.  Beginning to trace seams on the mechs interface panel.  Dig in and cause discomfort, but don’t make him want to retract his panel just yet.

Beads of energon following the path of the scalpel.  Prowl licking his lips in anticipation.  Unable to control himself, or maybe just how he had planned out, his face was millimeters away from Jazz’s pelvis.  Glossa out, intention was long flat strokes to clean up any spilt energon along Jazz’s body.  Following through with that intention, Prowl’s glossa followed familiar paths on the saboteurs being.  Tracing both transformation seams and interface panel seams alike.

“Mmmmmm, ya sure do know how ta please a mech.” Came the lower voice of Jazz.

“Is it normal for Autobots to get turned on through interrogation?”

“Only if it makes ya uncomfortable.”

What a cheeky glitch he could be.  Either he was genuinely enjoying this right now or maybe the electricity fried his processor. 

“And if it just excites me?  Then what.” Scalpel digging at the inside of his left thigh followed by Prowl’s glossa to cleanly lap up any spilt energon.

“Guess ah’ll have to figure that one out.”

_Click._   There went Jazz’s cooling fans.  Is this why he always got let free?  Did he just creep out the interrogator until they gave up?  Prowl knew that pain was a huge kink for Jazz, but he had more or less assumed that if Jazz was in such a predicament he wouldn’t allow himself to get, well, aroused.

“So, do you give a safeword to those who have the pleasure of interrogating you for when it becomes to much?  Or do you wait for them to run with helm held low.”  The faint scent of lubrication hitting Prowl’s olfactory senses as his glossa kept tracing after the scalpel.

“Ah’ll usually wait fer them to run.  But by tha sounds of it, ah would say that yer enjoyin yerself quite well here.”  The sounds of Prowl’s cooling fans mingled with Jazz’s.  All Prowl could wonder was, maybe Jazz was onto him.  Maybe he was a bit too familiar with seams, or maybe Jazz had the feel of his glossa memorized.  Prowl wouldn’t put that last bit past him.

“Well then, maybe it’s time for a change of pace.”  Prowl careful to make sure that his footsteps matched the ones that he had presented earlier.  Sitting on a nearby table were a few different instruments to be enjoyed.  But, that energon whip laying right there would be a delicious sting and change of pace.

Whip in hand Prowl knew where he would take this scene to next.

_Ker-Chack!_   The crack of the whip sounding through the space.

_Ker-Chack!_ The sound repeating from Prowl’s second whip crack causing a slight jump in the saboteur.  He knew what was coming, but still didn’t mean he was expecting it.

Prowl walking back towards Jazz almost quietly.  Jazz would be able to easily pick up on the noise with how finely attuned his audials were.  Still didn’t mean that Prowl couldn’t lace his steps with a semblance of intention and dread.

_Ker-Chack!_   The first strike causing the tongue of the whip to land directly on the bright red logo on Jazz’s chest.  Jazz’s back arching in response to the touch.  Prowl knew that arch, a combination of pain and pleasure.  He had seen that many times in their scenes in the past.

Prowl was a mech who wanted control, and Jazz was a mech who got off with pain as a direct link to pleasure.  Mission gone sour?  A rougher scene.  Mission gone perfectly?  Compensation of pain to make up for his lack of damage.  Somehow Jazz always managed to find a way to bring sessions back to include his inherent link of pleasure through pain.

_Ker-Chack!_ The next hit striking lower on prowls midsection.

_Ker-Chack!_   Next on Jazz’s pelvis. 

“So, when is that attack scheduled.”  Prowl be slagged to the pit if he gave up the scene before he got what he wanted.  But Prowl also knew that an energon whip was not something that was preferred by Jazz.  And this had the possibility to throw the saboteur off Prowls trial.

“If ah tell ya will ya stop with tha whip?”  Maybe being strapped into the harness for a few cycles did more damage than expected.

“That was the deal was it not?”

“Three and a half deca-cycles.”  Well that was surprisingly easy.

“How will they approach.”

“Through an underwater vehicle and some jus’ sinkin to the seafloor.” Apparently the whip was not in the least bit friendly to Jazz.  He really disliked that instrument.

“There there.  Now as that so hard?

“Ah don’ know.  You tell me, Prowler.”  The saboteurs grin was blinding.  This would be something he held over prowl for a long time.

“What gave it away?”

“Too much attention to changing footsteps, an no warnin bells for a Decepticon bein in base after my processors came to.”  Prowl moved forward to remove the blindfold from Jazz’s visor and allowing his optics to take in his surroundings.

“Well, then what do you suggest I do now?”

“Well, next time why don’ you try an snag me from a battlefield.  But fer now ah think some good ol’ interfacing will suffice.”

“That much I can comply with.  Let’s get you outta that harness first and then I’ll make this up to you.”  Prowl was clearly upset at having blundered enough that the game was figured out.  But, if Jazz had anything to say about it, well then next time there would be a longer session.  He would just need to be patient and catch him completely unaware.  Next time.

A few clicks and Jazz was released from the variable voltage harness.

“Ya know.  Tha scalpel was a nice touch, but tha door wings woulda been far more effective.”  Jazz’s tone was both indignant and insulting.

“I’ll remember that, if you get a next time.”

“If-“ Jazz’s retort was cut off by Prowl’s mouth.

Hot, aggressive, controlling, clearly sending a message.  Glossa’s fighting with one another, Prowl easily backed the saboteur against a wall.  Both wrists enclosed by one of Prowl’s servos placed above Jazz’s helm.  Prowl’s knee spreading those beautiful thighs apart to allow pelvises to grind against one another.

“Open.”  The command short and simple in wake of the brief parting of mouths.  Prowl once again taking control of the situation and restraining the saboteur. 

_Click._  The sound of Jazz’s interface panel opening to reveal spike and valve alike.  The smell of lubricant filling the air even heavier now than before.

_Click._   Prowl’s panel following suit.  Spike almost instantaneously pressurized in wake of the situation the two mechs found themselves in.

Prowl’s mouth back on Jazz’s, the strategists left servo leveling the head of his spike in line with the saboteurs valve.  A valve so slick that there was no need for prep work.  Besides, Jazz preferred it rough.

“Mmmmmmmmm” came Jazz’s moan as Prowl slide his length into the saboteur.  Stretching, filling, and pleasuring the slightly smaller mech.  Prowl’s hips saddled in between the hips backed against a wall, Jazz raised the right leg of his to hook around the hips of the strategist.  This allowed him to keep his left pede firmly planted on the ground, but also allow easier access to his valve.

Prowl now fully sheathed in that warm valve became the slow and tortuous pace.  Fully in, fully out.  Fully in, fully out.  Fully in, fully out.  Hips pressed in a little bit further than maybe they should have been normally in order to tip the head of his spike to hit the row of nodes on the ceiling of that glorious valve.

Faster and faster now.  Jazz’s vocalizer stuck between moaning, squeaking, and just attempting to form some semblance of words.  Prowl’s spike taking a steady fast pace dragging Jazz closer and closer to an overload.

Prowl moving his glossa, dragging it across the saboteurs jawline towards an audial and one of the fins on his helm.  Gentle nibbles and bites on those fins dragging out even more noises.  Static charging the air, both individuals no longer suppressing their fields.  Prowl’s free hand moving from waist to neck then to door wing.  Tweaking, pinching, scratching.

Jazz slowly coming undone within the grasp of the strategist.

“Prowler.”

“Come for me Jazz.”

With a noise somehow caught between a scream and a yelp charge released from the saboteur.  Cooling fans kicked into high gear, steam releasing in between seams, air charged with electricity.

Prowl continuing to pump in and out of the semi-link saboteur in his grasp.  Mouth moving from helm to neck.  Biting, nipping, and sucking on cables in the neck.  Just a little bit more.  One more overload and Prowl would be able to count this encounter as a success.

Pace picking up even more, Prowl’s hand gravitating down chest plates, along following a particular seam down Jazz’s side to his pelvis.  Continuing the trail downwards Prowl’s digits finding the swollen anterior node.

Steady pressure and circular motions.  Combined with a near brutal pace and the charge in Jazz’s field started to build up again without care.  The clanging of their pelvises meeting echoing throughout the room.

A bite to the main energon line in his neck, more pressure and quickened pace to that node, and a sharper tilt of Prowl’s pelvis and Jazz was quickly overloading a second time.  This time so powerfully his visor turned white from the optics beneath.  Vocalizer sounding blown out from the noise ripping from it.  EM Field creating an even heavier ion rich smell in the atmosphere.

Valve rippling in an almost synchronized dance.  Feeling like it was attempting to take Prowl in even further.  The involuntary spasms of Jazz’s valve making thrusting nearly impossible left Prowl not far behind.  A few more almost successful thrusts and Prowl joined in with Jazz in an overload.

Prowl far more guttural in noise with his overload.  Biting down even harder, denting and breaking cables in the saboteurs neck.  Transfluid spilling into the smaller mechs valve only to be greedily consumed by the ripping effects of the valves inside.

The two mechs stayed joined like this for a coupld of kliks.  Neither daring to move for fear that they both might topple over in a completely undignified heap.  Ultimately Prowl managing to pull out of the smaller mech and release his wrists.

“So, that was good.  Shall we go clean up?”

“Ah would think so Prowler.  Unless ya want to go on shift lookin like that”  Jazz gave a half-afted motion towards the streaks of lubricant and remnant energon streaks lining the bigger mechs body.

“Good idea.  Good idea.  Well, to the washracks?”  Prowl was always awkward when it came to dealing with aftercare.  Somehow more intimate moments made the mech feel out of place.  But Jazz be condemned to the pit, Jazz was going to change that mentality one way or another.

“Yea, ah would say so.” Flashing a characteristic grin, it was now Jazz’s turn to take the lead.

Prowl might have been better at taking control in the berth, but the strategist needed the aftercare just as much as the saboteur did.  Jazz might wind up with physical marks that needed nanite gel to properly heal as well as a good scrubbing down.  But Prowl needed the mental reassurance that he did a good job.  It was a strange dynamic, but somehow the pair made it work.

So, as Jazz was dragging Prowl over to the private washracks in Prowl’s quarters sweet reassuring vibes were constantly being brushed up against Prowl through Jazz’s field.  Prowl’s field still alight with satisfaction and the lingering overload did well to mask uncertainty and the chaos brewing just below the surface.  A lesser experienced mech wouldn’t be able to pick up on those undertones.  But after the vorns and vorns and vorns that Jazz had known Prowl?  It was easy to pick apart the layers and show Prowl what he needed to be shown.  Not because it’s what Prowl wanted to hear, but because it was the truth.

Aftercare with these two was always a wordless interaction.  The two had known each other for so long that they let their EM fields and actions do the talking.  Besides, as the humans say “actions speak louder than words.”  Right?

So while Prowl was busy cleaning all the superficial slices and cuts that were all along Jazz made sure that his EM field was bigger and more prevalent than normal.  Big enough and apparent enough to encompass both beings in contempt, satisfaction, and something akin to love.  Appreciation?  Appreciation felt right.

It was almost a ritual that was repeated after so many sessions together.  Prowl would scrub down Jazz’s chasis, paying extra attention to spots that ended up pertaining more abuse than others.  Jazz would silently reassure the mech taking care of him.

Prowl was always meticulous enough to make sure that he didn’t miss any last crevice, joint, or seam while cleaning the smaller mech.  Often times dropping down to his knee joints in order to properly reach and clean every last centimeter.  Jazz would oftentimes leave the sessions infinitely cleaner than when he had arrived.  But that seemed to be a thing that Prowl enjoyed, pampering his mate in such a way.

After a good scrub down in hot solvent Prowl would apply nanite gel to hasten up the recovery process on the saboteur.  Jazz would always make sure that the favor was returned.

In the beginning Prowl had insisted that the fact that Jazz was a valve-mech and didn’t want to spike the strategist was more than enough.  There was no need to spend so much time afterwards cleaning and caring for the stubborn and slightly sadistic strategist.  However, slightly seemed to be more and more of an understatement as their sessions ramped up.

But Jazz ever stubborn insisted that this was something he needed to do.  A way to both repay and reassure the stubborn mech that he was sticking around for the long-haul.  And over time it had evolved into a necessary ritual.  Neither mech would feel right leaving without completing this dance they enjoyed together.

“Next time, I think I’m going back to the cable and sybian.” Lies.  Well, mostly.  Prowl would lie in wait for a bit before striking once more.  Next time he struck however, he would take the saboteurs words to heart.  Battlefield.  Access those wings.  More aggressive.  But maybe for a first time this wasn’t so bad.  It gave him a starting point and he knew where he needed to go from here.  And the only place to go from here was clearly up.

“Mmm, ya know how ta please a mech Prowler.”  Jazz once more moving to capture the strategists mouth in a kiss.

“For now, why don’t we go recharge.  I’ve got a briefing in the morning, and I’m sure you’ve got something or another you need to do.”

“Oh Prowler, seems like the overload’s gone ta yer processer.  Ya know my schedule, ya know everyone’s schedule ya stalker.”  The chuckle that escaped Jazz’s processor was music to Prowls ears.  All Prowl could do was grin in response as he gathered Jazz in his arms, lifting him off the ground bridal style.

“Well, that is true.  But tonight?  Tonight you stay in my berth.”  And with a hum of approval from the saboteur, he was carried off by Prowl to the warm plush berth for a night of snuggles and recharge.


End file.
